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Dreams of Tarn
The Steel Balloon(#5925Rnt) - Tyger Pax A grand establishment of questionable repute, this facility is a rectangular-shaped building rising a few Transformer-sized stories into the heavens, with large metallic steps leading up to the door. Lights, music and voices emit from the place at all hours of the night, as people come here to enjoy themselves and their friends, or to forget their miserable lives for a brief period. Within is a truly massive circular bar and large-screen holoviewers suspended on every wall. A honeycomb-tiled dance floor takes up most of the floor space on the east side, and tables surround it, all built for mechs from cassette-sized to Dinobot-sized. This pub is strictly neutral, or as neutral as the bouncers can manage to enforce against drunk, brazen Decepticons. The owner has an agreement with both factions, as most of their revenue comes from the soldiers on either side, so there is incentive to avoid trashing the place via brawling. Blast Off sits in the Steel Balloon, at his customary table in the corner. As usual, he sips from a wine glass and reads a datapad... this one a history of various CEC shuttles' adventures in space. He's making notes as he goes, recording locations of places he might want to visit someday... and places he may want to avoid entirely. The Steel Balloon is more or less busy, especially for this time of day. The bartop is full of customers, all drinking wildly and growing more and more rowdy as the intergalactic boxing competition draws to a close. The sound of the televisions are almost defeaning, and if they weren't.. the drunken stupor of shouts drowns out the rest. A serving-bot approaches Blast Off's table, new bottle of wine on its tray. <> the bot points to a Transformer, still shrouded in half-light and darkness.. it's hard to make out who it is exactly, especially with his back to the Combaticon. Blast Off just shuts down most of his audio receptors, so he doesn't have to listen to the racket. He focuses on his reading... that is, until the serving-bot approaches and he looks up. He gazes at the wine bottle in some slight confusion, then over to the mysterious stranger. Then back to the wine bottle. With a small shrug, he accepts the gift, placing it on the table, then asks the serving-bot, 'Did they give you their name?" He peers over there, trying to get a better look at who that is. <> the server-bot replies, laying a card down on the table. Hustling herself off back to the busy bar and waiting patrons, the lighting in the establishment sways amid two drunkards brawling. The fight doesn't last long, as Bunker (the establishment's bouncer), hefts them both up by their necks and 'escorts' them out the door. As the light settles down, it shows what's written on the card: Happy to see me? The figure across the bar swivels around in his seat, almost as if timed and planned meticulously. The light reveals his face, it's Backfire's grinning mug. He's smiling so hard, it looks painful. Such is an idiot's plight, apparently. Blast Off reads the card, blinks, then looks up to see.... Backfire. The Combaticon lets out a small, annoyed *huffff*. "NO." With that, he determinedly goes back to reading his datapad and hoping upon all hope that Backfire will just *go away*. Of course, Backfire may at least be able to take comfort in the fact that Blast off is rarely happy to see *anyone*. Without losing a beat, Backfire grabs up his drink and moseys over to Blast Off's table. "May I?" he inquires, instead of waiting for an answer.. just plops himself down into the seat next to the Combaticon. "What are you reading? I didn't know you could read. Isn't that like.. restricted to Onslaught only, to keep your team in line?" the Seeker bombards him with questions, sipping at his non-alcoholic energon O'Douls. Blast Off bristles as Backfire plops down and makes himself at home. The Combaticon scoots away, trying to regain some space again, hunching over his datapad and bringing his glass close. "Onslaught is not the only one in my team who enjoys reading, nor does he need to keep our team "in line". Well, not ME, at least, perhaps it applies to the others. I'm not an unruly hooligan, after all, and I spend many nights reading from various tomes, in fact. This is an account of space exploration, and, as a space shuttle, it interests me." To showcase just how *civilized* he is, in fact, he takes a sip from his wine glass, then places it down again- then fires off a few questions of his own. "Why are YOU here, anyway? Where have you been? What was that bottle of wine for? And, /most importantly/, how long before you LEAVE?" "Oh right, you're.. cultivated and all that fancy nonsense." Backfire replies, sliding closer as Blast Off slides away. He's like that scummy guy at the bar who can't take a hint. Even if he did get the hint, there's little hope Backfire would know what to do with it. "Why am I here.. like, in existence? Has no one gone over ancient Cybertronian lore and history with you??" Dusting his hands off, the Seeker reaches over and places an arm around Blast Off. "You see, when two Transformers love eachother very much.." Blast Off does NOT want to hear about "when Transformers love each other".... ESPECIALLY when Backfire's got his arm around him. "Get OFF!" He flails, shoving the Seeker away and scooting even further away... if he can. "No, you idiot, here at the Steel Balloon? Here, in my *personal space*! Here on this PLANET. Surely, there's someone on Earth or some other dark corner of the galaxy you can go bother... Perhaps there's an Autofool somewhere who doesn't yet know... of whatever it is you /think/ you /do/ know. Yes... go enlighten THEM. In fact..." Optics gleam. "There's an Autofool named Crusade... if you see him, be sure to enlighten /him/ all you like. I hear he enjoys heights- you should give him flying lessons sometime." Crusade is actually terrified of heights, of course. He waves off the Seeker, hoping to dismiss him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm busy. I have a long night's reading to do... quite exhausting. I'll need all my energy for it." Maybe that'll get Backfire to go away. "Oh, right." Backfire nods along, looking around bored. "Well, I was here to find -you- Blast Off. Lord Cyclonus has given me a very important mission.. and he gave me special permissions to draft and pick team members for said mission. Well, Astrotrain is out in deep-space.. so I figured you could fill in for him." Climbing on the table, the Seeker sets himself in front of the Combaticon and places an open palm on the datapad.. trying to cover it from view. "How many Cons can you fit inside of your altmode anyways?" Blast Off raises an optic ridge, thinking that Backfire looking for HIM is... likely a bad thing. And sure enough, he finds himself leaning back again as the Seeker actually gets ON the table. There's a startled sputtery huff and he tries to pull back his datapad. "Are you implying that I am just your second choice because Astrotrain's not available?! I am FAR more skilled than that loud-mouthed triplechanger..." Though come to think of it, he doesn't want the job anyway, whatever it is... most likely. "....Why do you want to know? I am CO of Aerospace now, I have better things to do than transport people around. Just /what/ mission is this, anyway?" "Well, you guys were tied for first?" Backfire offers, shrugging the Combaticon's feels aside nonchalantly. Moving off the table, the Seeker again nestles into the seat beside Blast Off.. uncomfortably close as always. "These orders come from the top, tippy top. Like if the orders were coming from a mountain, it'd be the peak.. the very highest point. But that's silly, because mountains don't give orders.. unless Lord Cyclonus was altered to have a mountain altmode." Backfire rambles on. "THEN, they'd be mountain orders." "The mission is simple, political manuerving in Tarn and the desolation of the Autobot Operations division." Blast Off grumbles, engines growling slightly as he waits for Backfire to *get to the point*... he keeps trying to lean away, but Backfire keeps edging in. Then he freezes. Tarn? Oh slag, Backfire involved with *Tarn*?! Now he's worried. The Combaticon blinks. "What are you planning on doing in Tarn, exactly? I am running an operation there, and I do not want things interferred with..." He stares at the other mech. "And how are you planning to "desolate" the Autobot Operations division?" Optics narrow. "And again, what's that got to do with me and trasport?!" "It's not what -I- want done in Tarn, it's what Lord Cyclonus has decreed to be done in Tarn. Yes, I am aware of your operations there.. perhaps our esteemed leader has not found your efforts sufficient?" Backfire smiles gleefully, taking much more pleasure in that factoid than he should. "As for the specifics, I can't speak of those here." the Seeker states, covering a energon-iondine shaker on the table. "There could be spies.. everywhere." he whispers, pointing to the shaker with his optics. Blast Off's optics narrow once more as he lets out an annoyed huff. That... doesn't sound good. At all. How can Cyclonus ignore what *he's* been doing and hand responsibility to *Backfire* of all people?! Backfire's grin just makes him more nervous, and he's torn between wanting to ask Cyclonus about that... and realizing it's probably wiser just to stay far, far away. When the Seeker tries to cover an energon-iodine shaker on the table, he grabs it from Backfire instead. Holding it up, he states, "I HIGHLY doubt it. At a bar? At a random table?! Not at all likely, in fact..." Then it hits him that this isn't a random table, it's "his" standard table, and... his optics suddenly look closely at the shaker, as he wonders if there ARE any devices on it. "Well... I mean, there *shouldn't be*..." Then he bahs, turning to look at Backfire again. "Anyway... at least give me a general idea..." "Not here." Backfire replies, a wash of panic rolling across his face as Blast Off hefts the shaker in the air. Without moving his mouth, the Seeker utters in a very low tone "Put the shaker down casually and act normal." His optics pique at certain words in the sentence however, totally not-casual at all turning around to see if anyone was personally spying on them. "Yeah, I have to go to the stockmarket factory and do a business." Backfire states far louder than normal, getting up from his seat. "I do hope you have a JOYOUS day, Blast Off.. remember my card." the Seeker says awkwardly, before making a run for the door. The card on the table looks normal, but then just suddenly.. some invisible ink appears. The writing says: Not safe to talk here.. the chairs are actually transformer spies.. meet me at 1800 hours in the outskirts of Tarn.. Blast Off raises an optic ridge at this all.... and mostly just stares blankly at Backfire as he heads off... confused, as he usually is by the Seeker. He looks down and notes the card. Hmm. He's half inclined to toss the thing, but... maybe he should actually go. At least then he can find out if Backfire's going to interfere with his own work..... Then he sighs- and goes back to reading- and drinking. The card lets out a tiny little emission of a recording: This card will self destruct in 5.. 4.. 3.. Before Blast Off's optics, the card flickers up into a small flame and goes out. The serv-bot comes over to the table, pulling out an extinguisher.. she sprays the table, and by coincidence Blast Off, with the foam violently. After everything in that corner is doused in the flame retardant foam, the serv-bot looks at the Combaticon annoyingly. <> she mentions, looking around for Backfire. Blast Off flinches as the card goes up in flames, looks up indignantly, then leaps up, flailing, as he's suddenly sprayed with foam. "WHAT?! You CANNOT be serious! He's not my FRIEND. I hardly *know the mech*!!! And HE caused that fire, not ME!"